On Down The Road
by Thequietoneintheback
Summary: Takes place immeadiately following Devil's Trap before IMToD. What happens right after the crash.


Silence hung with the fog in the cool still night air. Just moments before, the night's stillness had been disrupted by a roaring engine flying down the old back road, and then a gut-wrenching crash and the screech of metal. Now it was quiet again except for the creaks of settling metal and the hiss of escaping steam.

A deep-cut set of four tire tracks, littered with shattered glass and pieces of metal, led off an old dirt and gravel backcountry road to the source of the remains. An eighteen-wheeler sat in the middle of the field facing away from the three-way intersection, as if it had simply run through, missing the stop, and out into the field. Barely visible from the road, wrapped around the front end of the semi, was what was left of the black late-model Chevy impala. Inside the ruined impala lying as silent as in the morgue, there were three bloody figures, battered and unmoving.

Behind the wheel, Sam Winchester sat head lolled back against the headrest, face glistening with blood, eyes closed. Beside him riding shotgun, John Winchester's unmoving body leant against the door. The impact of the semi had connected full on with the passenger-side of the impala, compressing the two doors inward, and effectively pinning the senior Winchester's right leg, breaking bone in the process. Blood now oozed from were metal had cut through denim and flesh, and from several cuts on the older man's face. In the back seat, directly behind his brother, lay Dean Winchester. Sank low in the seat, his body lie slumped against the driver's side of the impala. Glass was littered over him and around his sprawled feet from the driver's side window that his head had impacted during the crash. With his eyes closed and covered with blood, Dean's skin glistened a ghastly cool pallor against the night air.

The quiet of shock had dissipated from the area but the soft din of the country night had not yet returned. Not a creature stirred in the eerie unnatural calm of the surroundings, as if waiting. The silence was broken by a faint stifled gasp. In the back seat of the car, the eldest boy's body jerked slightly as a wet rasp rattled him. Blood dripped from his lips, joining the sticky mess that covered the front of his shirt. Another louder wretched cough brought forth a mouthful of blood and a strangled moan from the still unconscious figure.

In the front of the car, John's body jerked instinctively at the faint sound. His head still leant back against the seat; he began to try to move it while his closed eyes twitched. At the louder cough, his whole body jerked again, this time pulling at his pinned leg and sending a wave of pain up his body, snapping his eyes wide open with a gasp.

Fighting back pain, nausea, and every urge demanding him to let his eyes close and go back into darkness, John Winchester stared blinking up at the ceiling of the impala. He breathed in his surroundings, taking in a slow deep lungful of air and releasing it, he smelled ozone and exhaust mingled with traces of gasoline, the scent of fresh torn up earth, and a coppery presence of blood. He could remember riding down the road with Sam driving. He remembered talking to Sam, reprimanding him for not pulling the trigger, and he could remember a sudden impact but nothing else until he shook himself awake.

Beside him, a gasp and a shudder pulled his attention to his son in the seat next to him. "Sammy…"came out his coarse choked whisper. His youngest son replied only with a pained groan and tried to lift his head. "Whoa son. Take it easy…" coaxed the father, as he tried to turn and reach toward his boy. The pain exploding in John's pinned leg and in his right shoulder stopped him abruptly. He snarled in frustration as he noticed his immovable position and his inability to lift his right arm.

"Dad?" Sam had turned his head towards his father without lifting it from the headrest and was now looking at him through glassy unfocused eyes.

"Yeah, I'm here Sammy," John said turning away from his own wounds, the father met his son's gaze and quickly surveyed his youngest.

"You hit your head Sam?"

"Think so…" Sam's glassy eyes drooped away from his father's while he swallowed hard trying to regain his bearings, "Dean?"

It took just that one word to turn John Winchester's blood to ice. _Dean_. He had not heard a sound from the backseat of the impala since he had been able to open his eyes.

"Dean!" Louder this time, laced with pain and fear, Sam called out to his brother.

"Shh… Sammy." John hissed as he reached out his left arm to stay his youngest. He winced at the pain of the movement, but tried to twist his aching neck around to peer into the backseat of the car. He froze at what he saw and all the air from his lung was forced out past his lips; "Dean".

In the darkened backseat of the impala, he saw where his oldest son lay slumped against the driver's side, head drooped with his chin on his chest, eyes closed, completely unmoving.

"Oh, God Dean," John Winchester whispered, blinking back tears as he took in the entire condition of his first-born.

"Dad."

John remained rigid, and silent.

"Dad what's wrong? Dean!?!" Sam desperately tried to turn around to see his brother but was still unable to move his head without an explosion of stars.

John continued to sit twisted in his seat silently surveying the condition of his oldest boy. "Dean…" came a deceptively calm, cool tone from the senior Winchester.

Nothing. The young man in the backseat did not stir.

"Dean." John's voice came out deeper in tone that emanated authority, "you need to open your eyes son."

Dean remained still and silent.

"Dean!" Sam called out again to his brother located just behind himself but out of his reach. He was now beginning to become very agitated, trying to turn himself around to get to Dean, but only succeeding in making his stomach lurch and his vision swim.

"Sam, quiet!" John barked at his youngest, squinting back the pain the words caused his head.

Sam fell quiet, as did the whole vehicle, because it was then John noticed the faint sound of movement coming from the cab of the semi. He turned and met Sam's startled gaze. John looked at his youngest putting his finger to his lips, quashing anything the younger man might say with one look. John then gave their surroundings his complete attention for the first time. He could not see out of the window to his right because it was being blocked by the front end of the semi. Through the windshield he saw the darkness of the field in front of them. He twisted himself back around to look out the rear window, inadvertently pulling again at his pinned leg.

"Dammit," he hissed at the pain. Blinking back the stinging reflexive tears in his eyes he looked at his oldest son again. Dean had not yet moved or gave any signs of life. Sitting there trying to piece together their current situation, John heard something stirring in the semi again.

"Sammy," he said without turning away from the backseat, " can you get out."

"Don't know" came a struggled reply and John heard his son tugging on the driver's door handle, which gave way with a loud creak, and the door swung open a few inches.

"Its open," Sam stated as began trying to turn himself in the seat, so that he could slide out of the wrecked impala.

The loud creak of a heavy door swinging open on oil-deprived hinges stopped Sam dead. He turned to look at his father.

"The driver," John whispered to himself.

"Threat?" Sam whispered back trying to see into his father's eyes, to see what he was thinking.

John's gaze flitted back to his still unmoving son in the backseat, then to his now very awake son in the front. "I think so."

"We need to get out of here now" was all Sam said.

Sam slowly turned his body back toward the opened door. His entire upper torso and neck ached mercilessly and the fuzziness in his head had yet to completely clear. His movements were slow but deliberate as he began sliding his legs out of the car. He turned back to his father, checking to see if he was following, but stopped when he saw his father had not moved. He was still turned towards the backseat, staring at Dean who had yet to stir.

"Dad…" Sam whispered, trying the catch his father's attention, but John Winchester's eyes remained locked on his eldest son. "Dad…we need to get out of here…"

"Samuel?" John said, eyes still on Dean, not moving or making any sign that he had heard Sam.

"Yes sir," Sam replied reflexively, but in a quiet tone, still unable to figure out what was going on in his father's head. He also had no idea of what was going on in the cab of the semi because he had not heard a sound from that direction since the door swung open, but he was beginning to get very anxious, and a black pit of dread had lodged itself into his stomach. He had not heard a sound from Dean since he opened his eyes and the way his father kept staring at his brother with that look in his eyes made Sam know that something was very wrong. He knew that they needed to get out off the car, now. He knew that they needed to get the hell out of this place, now. And, he knew that they needed to get Dean to a hospital, now.

"You still have the colt?" the senior Winchester's gaze had finally left the backseat of the impala and locked firmly with that of his youngest son.

After the demon had been expelled from his body and into the night, John had laid his head back on the wood plank floor and shut his eyes, trying to hold back his torment. The demon had been right there. The thing that he had hunted all his life, the thing that had destroyed his family, the thing that killed Mary, right there. Right there inside of him and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

As soon as John had shut his eyes, Sam tucked the Colt in his waistband and rushed back to Dean's side. He surveyed his brother's condition quickly. Dean had lost a lot of blood from the demon's attack and his breathing was very slow and shallow. "How you holding up?" Sam whispered to his brother as he leaned in checking Dean's pulse. It was fast; too fast. Dean was sweating and having trouble keeping his eyes open.

"B-b-been better…" Dean shuddered out. Sam unconsciously flinched and pulled away at the grave sound of his brother's response. He looked down at Dean with scared eyes. "Hey Sammy," Dean said faintly, closing his eyes and taking a fell slow deep breaths.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam replied terrified. He leant in closer, eyes bloodshot and wet.

"Get me the hell off the floor, will ya'." Dean croaked out.

Sam exploded with choked, sobs of laughter. He looked down into his brother's eyes, which had not been reached by the smile that graced his face, and flashed a simple thankful grin. "You're really an asshole you know that," Sam whispered back before offering his brother his hand.

Dean had really needed the help from Sam to get up off the floor, and John watched from his back as Sam half-carried Dean out the door of the cabin and to the car, talking low into his ear all the way. When Sam returned, his father had managed to get to his feet but was leaning heavily against the wall, not looking up at Sam but down at the red stain that marked where Dean had fallen when his body was released from the demon's grip.

Without looking up, John pushed himself off the wall, dragging his wounded leg. Sam went to his side to lend his father a hand getting out the door but was waved off. Eyes still cast down towards the floor, with the words ground out due to the strain and effort of walking on his injured leg, John asked only one question. "That gun safe Sammy?"

"Yes sir."

Sam's eyes snapped back into focus on his father who had been watching his youngest boy's face. It was covered in deep red, drying blood and John could see the bruises and reopened cuts from the beating Sam had received earlier in the alley. He could see a lump forming where Sam's head had most likely impacted the steering wheel. He knew his son was lucky to be alive, let alone moving after all of this. Sam was sitting with one leg out of the driver's door; body laid back into his seat, breathing slowly, eyes still on his father.

"Where's the gun Sam?" John said, looking away casually; a complete mask of the inner turmoil and mass of turning gears that lay just under the surface.

"It's safe."

John's gaze rolled up to meet his son's, whose was beginning to grow hazy again.

More noise from the cab of the semi tore the senior Winchester's attention away. John's curiosity was now very much peaked. If the occupant of the semi was an enemy it should have made a move by now, or perhaps this accident could have truly just been an accident. John knew he couldn't trust chance when he knew better. They were all still in danger, and not in any shape to defend themselves. They needed some sort of advantage.

"Where?" This time John was unable to completely suppress a growl in the words.

"The trunk." Sam replied quietly, closing his eyes and taking a deep settling breath. John did not say a word, but just sat and stared at his son unbelieving. Once Sam had steadied himself, he opened his eyes, turned away from his father and began to climb out of the car. "You coming?" he shot back over his shoulder.

"You need to get that gun Sam," John said quietly to his son's back.

"No," Sam shot over his shoulder as he braced himself against the doorframe and stood up. He immediately regretted it as he felt completely flush and his legs turned to rubber. Sam's body slumped back against the impala, gripping the door for support.

"Dammit Sammy…" John hissed at his son.

"It's safe. It's protected." Sam wheezed back at his father.

John opened his mouth to ask just why that gun was in the trunk and how the hell was it safer in there but Sam cut him off.

"Got to check on Dean."

Standing back on his feet, Sam turned to the door Dean lay slumped against. He leant his weight against it, and reached his arm in through the shattered window, placing two fingers against the left side of his brother's neck. John looked on at his oldest son in the backseat, who lay far too quiet, and at his youngest son, stood slumped against the car door, eyes squeezed shut in concentration, and feared the worst.

For a few moments of sheer panic Sam held his breath, his fingers pressed against Dean's neck felt cool, damp skin but nothing else. His gut lurched, and he bent in closer until his face was only inches from Dean's.

"Dean." Sam said sternly, but got no response. Sam was running low on patience and all of his thoughts were blurring into anger. With his right hand still in place, fingers pressed firmly against his brother's neck, Sam's left hand felt Dean's neck for lumps or any other signs of a broken neck. Nothing. He lifted Dean's head so that he was looking at him face to face.

"Dean," Sam said in a low tense voice. "Open your damn eyes."

No response. No movement. No pulse.

Sam let his head droop forward, forehead touching Dean's, tears starting to swell in his eyes. "Damn you, Dean," he said with held breath. It was the end and he was just about to lose his last bit of resolve when at he felt a faint, weak _lub-dub_.

Sam's every muscle froze. He held his breath and felt again. _lub-dub_

"I got a heart beat," Sam sighed, exasperated but so relieved. A rushing intake of air to his left drew Sam's attention to his father. John had been watching his every move from the front passenger seat, apparently holding his breath. He looked on, eyes dark and sad.

"He breathing?" John asked tentatively.

Sam examined Dean's face, supporting his head and neck in his hands. "I think so."

Sam was standing, knees bent and body leaning heavily against the ruined impala, arms reaching through the shattered window, still supporting Dean's head and neck. He examined his unconscious brother's face. Up close he could see Dean was breathing shallow and slow but regularly.

"Not for much longer."

The bitter voice came out of the shadows to Sam's right sending an icy quake up his spine. Sam released his grip on Dean, letting his head fall forward and his body slump back down in the seat, and spun around rising to his full height to face the assailant. The momentum made Sam's vision swim and his knees betrayed him causing him to fall back against the car. Through a nauseating tilt and blur, Sam could see a figure advancing on him.

John was not aware that the driver had exited the cab of the truck, nor had he even heard him approach the crushed impala. He had still been sitting twisted around in his seat, watching Sam examine his unconscious brother, when those four icy words cut through the air, catching them both completely off guard. John instinctively lurched forward in his seat, trying to get out of the car and to his son, but was painfully reminded of his immovable position as jagged metal cut deeper into his pinned leg. In pain and raging frustration, John bellowed to his faltering son who had fallen back against the car, compelling him to act.

"Sam!"

The senior Winchester's roar from the front seat of the impala sent a jolt of adrenaline through Sam's blood and set off a long engrained trigger in his brain. _Move._ In one quick movement Sam blindly reached out, gripping two strong fistfuls of fabric, while throwing all of his weight forward on his left leg, and used the advancing enemy's momentum to swing him around and slam him bodily into the side of the car. Sam was rewarded by a resounding crack and the whoosh of all the air being forced out of the man's lungs before his body sagged in Sam's grip. He released his hold, stumbling backwards a few steps but staying on his feet.

Sam's vision had sharpened somewhat as the adrenaline coursed through his veins, but his head was still fuzzy and had developed a dull aching throb. He could see the older man, who he could only identify as the semi truck's driver, trying to push himself up the side of the impala and having difficulty. His legs didn't seem to be obeying him and he was snarling in frustration, groping frantically at the car with both hands. From the front seat of the impala, Sam could hear his father raging like a trapped lion.

John was thrashing madly against the car's crumpled door that pinned his leg, roaring in anger and pain. He could hear the truck driver trying to claw his way up the side of the impala. He knew that the man was going to get back up and make another charge for Sam, and that there was nothing he could do. He was trapped. His right leg was firmly pinned by the impacted door. With all of his struggling he had managed to shred his skin on the jagged metal of the crumpled door, further soaking his pant leg with blood, but nothing more.

Sam stood reeling, watching the man writhing against the car like a rabid animal. Abruptly, he became still and quiet. The man then braced himself between the open driver's door and the shattered window, and slowly slid his back up the impala, purposefully positioning his legs under him to support the weight of his body. Sam could see how the man's torso slumped unnaturally to one side, and could only assume that the crack he had heard was the man's spine, which had been completely severed and separated within his body. The man's head rolled back slowly until his gaze was leveled on Sam, standing only a few feet in front of him, wavering on his feet. Sam stared back into the two deep black pools that existed where the man's eyes should have been.

Sam shuffled on his feet, swallowing hard trying to rid himself of the acidy dryness in the back of his throat and wracking his clouded brain for some semblance of a plan of action.

"Where's the gun Sammy," the creature inside the broken body of a man hissed.

Sam's eyes shot up to meet the coal black gaze of the demon and his blood froze. Deep inside his mind something had clicked, finally taking hold of the entire situation before him. His father had fallen into silence inside the impala, waiting tensely and watching Sam's every move. Sam could just see him through the open driver's door, sitting pinned, right arm hanging limp and useless. His brother was sunk low in the backseat, body sagging with his chin on his chest, completely and utterly vulnerable. Both of them were trapped in the wreckage of the impala and he was the only Winchester on his feet, able to move. He was their only hope of getting them all out of this night alive, and somehow Sam had managed to place his enemy between him and his family.

"What gun," Sam said, feigning ignorance. He began shifting his weight on his feet, eyes darting back and forth. Sam sized up the old man's body inhabited by a demon that stood before him, looking for weak points. At first glance, he appeared simply to be an older man, probably late 60's, who should have retired years ago. His face was weathered and worn from a long life, and his hands were wrinkled and knobby from years of gripping a wheel. If it weren't for the disgusting way his chest hung forward, detached, over his hips or how the darkened, lifeless pools in his eyes did not reflect the moonlight, Sam would have taken the man as the harmless, gentle, old grandfather-type.

"Don't fuck with me Sammy," it shot back, pushing itself up off the impala and stood up straight, except for the sickening kink in the his midsection where the spine was disconnected. "We know you have that gun, and we know you have only one bullet left." the demon growled, "So now you're going to give it to me."

"Oh yeah or what?" Sam spat back, bristling, ready for the demon to make another charge.

A frightening grin graced the demon's face, but it was gone in a breath. Its two moonless black puddles of eyes settled dispassionately on Sam and it spoke quietly but menacingly.

"Or I'll kill your brother."

Sam's every muscle froze, and his façade fell away for an instant as a look of terror swept across his face. Sam took one strong deliberate step toward the demon but halted as its left hand slid in through the broken window, wrapping firmly around Dean's neck. Dean's head lolled back, moonlight illuminating his ashen face.

"The colt Sammy," it hissed mockingly, adjusting its grip around Dean's throat, eliciting a quiet strangled cough, accompanied a small spritz of blood.

"It's in the trunk," Sam sneered through gritted teeth, barely able to take his eyes away from the demon's hand gripping Dean.

"Go get it," spat back the demon, shifting on its feet, torso bobbing sickeningly.

"Can't," Sam replied coarsely, "no keys." Sam slowly lifted his hands, palms up, showing he spoke the truth.

"Where are they then," the demon sneered back venomously, losing patience. It shifted its grip again pulling Dean up in the seat, causing him to choke and sputter, but his eyes remained closed, arms limp and motionless at his sides.

"Ignition" Sam stated, voice emotionless, eyes fixed.

"John," the demon called out sharply, "make yourself useful in there and toss us those keys, won't you."

Sam could just see his father sitting in the front seat, eyes still locked on him, lips moving, but no response came from inside the car.

"John!" the demon growled, as it took a step sideways towards the open driver's door, pulling Dean's body up off the backseat with its crushing grip. Dean's breaths were now coming out as jagged, wheezing gasps. Sam could see Dean's eyelids had fluttered open but his eyes stared blankly out to space as his body bucked and lurched trying to break the demon's grip on his air supply.

Sam's lips curled into a snarl as he watched his brother's silent struggling, but he had had one eye on his father the entire time.

John had been silenced when the demon first asked about the colt. He sat quietly watching his youngest son, burning with frustration. He knew that there was no way that he would be able to get himself out of the car. He was also painfully aware that even though Dean was only mere feet away, lying slumped in the backseat of the impala behind the empty driver's seat, he was unable to reach him. The situation had rapidly spiraled out of control and they were running out of time. He looked down again at his trapped leg, skin shredded and bleeding, and then to Sam, shifting footing, warming up for a fight.

"Or I'll kill your brother." The demon's five words carved into John and shocked his mind into perspective.

John's eyes shot up meeting his youngest son's, just as the demon shifted, reaching out and taking hold of his oldest boy by the throat. John didn't even allow himself to respond to the demon's movement, but silently held Sam's attention through the open door, staring intently. He winked an eye at his son and then bowed his head, closing his eyes, and began murmuring. As Sam was distracting the demon, under his breath John was reciting old Latin verses he had long since memorized. "_Ragne terra cantąte deo…" _

Just as the demon had called out to John a second time for the keys to the impala, he had finished the first part of the rite.

"_Tributem virtuem deo._"

As John spoke the words, a tremor tore up the man's body, making the demon inside screech in fury and loosening its grip around Dean's throat. Dean's body slumped to the side, away from the window, towards his father's outstretched arm. John pulled his oldest son's unconscious form in close, away from the broken window and the shrieking demon outside, and continued chanting the verses louder.

The demon recovered quickly, realizing the deception, and, roaring, rounded on the open drivers door, trying to reach the man inside. Sam took the opportunity to rush it, driving his shoulder into its back, knocking it off balance and to the ground. He staggered back a couple of steps, catching himself on the driver's door that hung open.

The demon was writhing on the ground in front of the open door, broken body uncooperative, when a second tremor ripped through its body, causing it to lurch and contort in unnatural angles. The demon lashed out from the ground, tearing at Sam's feet, cursing and spitting. Sam took a staggered step back, kicking away the demon's groping hands, and glanced up at his father, who was still reciting the verses, louder and with authority.

The wind outside of the car began to pick up, gusting through the field around the wreckage. Dust and debris carried on the gusts whipped around Sam as he stood, weight leaning heavily on the open driver's door of the impala. The demon was writhing and screeching in the dirt in front of the open door, and Sam was unable to look away from the horrible sight at his feet. It was screaming in languages Sam had no desire ever to understand, spitting and swearing. It managed to push its upper body off the ground, and leant back against the impala, panting and spraying blood from its lips. Its soulless eyes fixed on Sam as another tremor rocked its body.

Whole body shaking, and its pain evident, it ground out in a grisly voice of nothing natural that walked the earth, "We will kill every last one of you."

Sam stared down into the two deep black pits that marred the man's face and spoke low in a icy, terrifying tone that he had heard come out of his brother no more than twelve hours before, "Not if we kill you first."

The demon just glared back with a disgusting grin, blood glistening on its lips and teeth, and began to laugh.

"This is just the beginning, Winchester," it sneered as a final tremor shot through its body. Its back arched, its head turned up to the night sky, and a choked howl tore from its throat. Deep black smoked erupted from the man's mouth, shooting straight up towards the sky, and evaporating away in the cool night air.

The last echoes of the demon's tortured howl faded from the darkened field and it fell silent. Sam stood, his body still leaning heavily on the open door of the wrecked impala, unmoving and speechless. His head hung low, the blood still glistening from the wounds that marred his face, but his eyes were wide open. The expression on his face was remote but his eyes were locked, staring at the body of a man who had just been possessed by a demon, now sprawled lifeless against the impala.

The man's eyes had returned to their natural state, gazing up at Sam, cloudy blue, yellowed with age, bloodshot, and empty. The damage that had been done within the man's body was apparent by the blood that had coursed freely from his lips, staining the front of his shirt. Looking at the repulsive way the his body sat offset and crooked in the middle, Sam could tell that the man's life had ended long before the demon had been expelled from his body. Sam knew there had been no way to have saved him. He knew that exorcising the demon was the only way to release him, letting him free to die, but none of those thoughts comforted Sam as an icy rawness settled into the pit of his stomach.

"Samuel," the strange sound of his father's hesitant tone shook Sam from his stupor.

Sam's head snapped up to meet the watching eyes of his father, only a little too rapidly, causing Sam's vision to swim and his knees buckled underneath him. He lost his grip on the car door and fell backwards landing in the wet night grass of the open field with a thud.

"Sammy," John called out after his son through the open door. From John's restricted position, he could see that Sam had only fallen backwards, landing on his butt. John almost laughed at his youngest's doppiness, which reminded him so much of his little boy he once knew, but Sam's eyes had locked back on the dead body of the man sitting in front of him. His gaze had become distant again, and John was unable to quell the nauseating roll of his stomach at the thought of what could be going on in his son's head.

"Sam. You alright son?" John's calm tone all but masked the crushing fear that was settling in to him.

"Yeah. I'm fine dad." Sam's response was nearly a whisper, but was enough. Sam gingerly lifted himself off the ground, completely of his own power, and stood slightly swaying on his feet.

The adrenaline that had been powering Sam's movements was depleted from his blood stream and he was beginning to be able to feel the full extent of his injuries. Sam's whole body ached mercilessly and he felt hot, but was shivering. His vision swam in and out of focus, making his stomach churn. The throbbing in his head had intensified, causing shadows to creep into his peripheral vision and making it hard for him to concentrate. He felt as if his strength was slipping away from him and it took all that he had just to stay on his feet. All of his thoughts were in a jumbled mess but one stood on the forefront, _Dean_.

John watched as Sam took a few lurching steps forward, managing to sidestep the dead man's body, and coming to rest against the impala just past the rear driver's side door. From his position in the front seat, John saw Sam's whole body sag against the side of the car, exhausted. He could see his son struggling too keep control over his tired body's movements and the underlying shaking of his worn-out muscles. John then looked down at his oldest son, who lay still unconscious in his grip.

Dean's body had slid off the seat when his father pulled him away from the demon, and now sat on the floor of the impala, legs in a jumble. John held Dean's body in the grip of his left arm, wrapped around his shoulders keeping him from slumping forward. He could feel the cool pallor of his boy's skin, and could see the glistening beads of sweat, mingling with the bloodstains on Dean's face. Dean's head was tilted back against his father and John could see that Dean's eyes were rolled back so that only the whites were visible through the cracks of fluttering eyelids. His breathing was coming out quickly and irregularly, and up close John could see the dried blood that trailed from Dean's right ear down the side of his neck.

"Sammy, I need you to call for help," his father's grated voice crept quietly from the front seat of the car.

Sam had most of his weight laying against the car for support and his forehead pressed against the cool steel of the impala's roof, trying to steady himself. Without lifting his head, he dug his hand into his pocket and fished out his cell phone. He pulled his head off the car and looked down at the phone in his hand. He could see that the screen had been completely crushed in the wreck. He pressed the buttons to see if it could still work but it was hopeless, the phone was totaled.

"M-phone's busted," Sam heaved out over dry lips. The mere uttering of the words caused his stomach to roil and set off a painful explosion in his head. Sam's knees buckled a little, making him have to hold on to the car to keep from falling again.

"There should be a radio in the cab of the truck," John said quietly without looking up at Sam. He had not been watching Sam, or seen him falter, because his complete attention was still directed towards his oldest child. John was loosing his grip on the situation quickly. The energy he had when he regained consciousness was depleted and he was still pinned in the car oozing blood from his shredded knee. Pain from his injuries was invading his ability to think and John's eyes were beginning to droop, as he realized how bad off he might actually be.

"Not gonna make it that far." Sam spat out from outside the car, while fighting to keep the contents of his stomach down at the same time. He felt as if the entire contents of his skull would spill out his mouth if he tried to say another word.

John's attention was stole away from Dean when he heard his youngest's sickening admission of defeat. He looked up in time to see Sam just manage to find a firm grip on the car door's handle. With one great pained jerk, Sam wrenched to door open and let it swing wide, falling completely open with a harsh creak. All his energy depleted, darkness rushed into Sam's vision and he felt his body collapse into the backseat of the impala, landing next to Dean and his father.

Sam lay there still; eyes squeezed shut, struggling to regain control of his body. Pain was exploding all over and Sam was fighting back the urge to vomit. His head felt like it was about to split wide open and explosions of stars danced behind his eyelids. He could hear his father's voice calling out his name, but it was distant and muted like sound in water. Sam could also hear the strained breaths of his brother beside him. Each sounding louder in his ears than anything else, strangled wheezes coming in and out. Farther off he could hear steady thumping and he felt as if he were slipping.

A swarm of voices and noises cut through Sam's stupor as he felt hands on him. He was rolled, his eyelids were pried open and a light was shined in. Voices around him were yelling for help, barking frantic orders. Sam struggled to regain consciousness, like swimming up through deep dark water. Panic assaulted his still semi-conscious form when he realized he could no longer hear his brother's breathing. Sam surfaced into consciousness with a cry out, "DEAN!".

Above him faces were looking back, hands moving out of his sightline. Panicked and angry, Sam struggled against them. His eyes darting around, he plead to the EMTs surrounding him.

"Where's my brother?"

No one answered him. They kept their busied working and their calm voices, but did not answer him

"Is he alive?"

Nothing. Sam fought against those trying to help him, as they moved him to a ready stretcher.

"Somebody answer me." He screamed as they began to move across the field to the waiting life flight choppers. He still couldn't see anything other than what was directly above him and was becoming completely enraged.

"Where is my brother? Where is my dad?" He yelled over the roaring _thump thump thump_ of the chopper blades. He had not seen either of them since he collapsed on the backseat and couldn't keeping the growing fear from overwhelming him.

"Are they even alive?"


End file.
